LESSER EVILS
by NamelessArcanum
Summary: After the death of her last relative, twenty-six-year-old Bunny Abrams Owens returns to Charming after a fifteen year absence. On paper she was the exact opposite from those in the MC: old money, New Yorker, and semi-famous. But things are not always what they seem. For most of her life she's been on the outside, looking in. Has she finally found the place where she fits? HAPPYxOC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I claim no right to Sons of Anarchy or any of its characters; they belong to the amazingly talented Kurt Sutter. Bunny & Crew belong to me as well as my writing. The story is set to begin after the first episode of Season 2. Enjoy.**

_Lesser Evils_

Chapter One

It had been a little over a week since she had arrived to the sleepy west coast town, and yet Bunny's body clock still wasn't right. Up until yesterday, she had been so busy tying up Aunt Malory's affairs that her pace hadn't been much different than that of the New York hustle-and-bustle she was used to. But after burying Malory in the Owens' mausoleum, meeting with the lawyers to execute her aunt's will, and tying up whatever other loose ends Malory left behind, Bunny was left with nothing to do. And that stillness haunted her. It wasn't like Bunny was always busy back in the city, but the constant stream of people out and about always made her feel like she was part of something alive—even if she wasn't actively participating at the time. There was always a possibility to engage in a task in NYC, and the ease of it gave Bunny a great sense of comfort. It was knowing she never needed to be alone. She had grown accustom to the New Yorkers' general sense of detached togetherness. In child developmental science this idea of 'detached togetherness' is known as parallel play. According to Mildred Parten, who was one of the first to study peer sociability in 1932, parallel play is the first of three stages in social development. Parallel play can increase a child's confidence because they are learning to play near others—which makes a lot of sense when you think about how cocky New Yorkers can be.

Bunny's randomly excessive knowledge on this subject was a result of her seventy-third hour of consciousness a few months back. Years ago Bunny had decided that whenever she started another long stretch of sleeplessness she would keep herself as busy as possible. Being constantly engaged in some task kept her from getting down on herself and delayed some of the detrimental side effects that happen with a lack of sleep. Years of keeping busy had left Bunny with a plethora of random factoids that were only useful if you wanted to make yourself seem interesting at a cocktail party and an expertise in knitting, weaving, baking, and whatever other crafts she could get her hands on. Some of Bunny's more useless talents included learning the art of trapeze, hula hooping, beekeeping, and reciting the list of U.S. Presidents backwards and forwards. Somehow all of her randomly acquired knowledge had come into use at least once in her New York dealings and parallel play.

Charming, however, did not offer that same sort of detached togetherness Bunny so craved. The only thing that California seemed to offer her was the acute awareness of the fact that she was at a loss of what to do with herself. Too much time in seclusion had never led Bunny down a good path that was for sure. The uncertainty of it all was causing all of Bunny's bad habits and quirks to slowly but surely rise to the surface. And in the silence of the birds and the wind through the trees, she started to regret her somewhat hasty yet valid decision to stay out west.

The Charming air was a pleasant and there was a subtle breeze coming in from the west. Owenswood, the property Bunny had recently inherited, was situated on the outskirts of the town close to the Waheewa Reservation. The acreage was surrounded by a dense forest of California Redwoods and Evergreens. The property was comprised of about seven separate structures that were dispersed over thirteen acres. A long winding cobblestone path lead from the access road to the main house where a member from the Owens family had lived since before the California Gold Rush. Besides the main house and the detached garage there were three or four other small cottages that had served many various functions over the years. Originally most of them had been servants' quarters. But as we progressed further and further into the modern age, they adopted other functions like a beekeeping outpost, greenhouse, and woodshop. Only one outer structure was still being inhabited by a non-Owens. Bunny affectionately thought of the small cottage as the Hagrid's Hut to her Hogwarts. All-and-all Owenswood was a pretty magical place. She felt blessed to have spent a good portion of her formative years in such a setting. Her family's history was so rich here. And even though she was surrounded by so many memories of all the different Owens who lived here, Owenswood felt hauntingly vacant now that she was the last of her kin.

As it was, Bunny was now perched up on the old Redwood rocking chair that had a permanent spot on her aunt's, well now I guess it was her, front porch. The rocking chair and its companion, which sat on the other side of the coffee table, had been there ever since Bunny could remember. If she had to venture a guess, she'd wager they were at least double her age—which was not unlike most of the items that called Owenswood home. Bunny sunk further into the chair as she sipped her morning coffee, seeing if she could permanently ingrain herself into the very woodwork. Her memories of this particular chair were so warm and bright that maybe she could receive some solace from it to negate the unnerving energy that seemed to dissipate through the Charming air.

Bunny let out a large sigh and drank the last sips of her coffee. She haphazardly placed the handmade piece of stoneware beside her as she righted herself in the chair. Realizing at that moment no matter how much effort she put into it there was just no way she could dissolve into the charming furnishings. Bunny placed her hands on either side of the rocking chair's arms and pushed herself to stand. She rolled her neck in a clockwise fashion and stretched her arms above her head, satisfied with the audible crack that accompanied her actions. Glancing back at the antique clock on the kitchen's south wall, she noticed it was now nine o'clock in the morning. Bunny decided that this was a respectable hour that normal people would start their day. With one last look at the property's expansive grounds she went back inside the Victorian inspired main house, taking the empty mug with her.

After taking a quick shower, foregoing the washing of her long silvery locks, Bunny went back downstairs and grabbed a pair of jeans and clean underwear out of her large Louis Vuitton Trunk. It had been a week and Bunny was still living out of a suitcase. She shook her head and muttered her disgust with herself. She really needed to come to grips with the permanence of her situation. Exhaling a large breath and nodding at the offending piece of luggage, she made a solemn promise to move her clothes up to the master bedroom when she returned later that afternoon. Bunny slipped into her clothes and threw back on the Iron Maiden t-shirt that she had spent the previous night in. It smelled clean enough. The shirt was originally her fathers and for what she needed to do this morning she was definitely going to need some moral support. Without even a second glance, Bunny grabbed her shoes, headed back downstairs and out the door.

Twenty feet from the main house on the property was a garage that's exterior looked like it belonged more in the mythical Shire than on the outskirts of Charming, California. Aunt Malory had obviously been on a Tolkien kick when she had it redone a decade ago. The red brick building was covered in crawling ivy. The green leaves were so prominent that unless you knew from experiences inside, you would be hard pressed to believe it was not solely constructed of vines and leaves.

Bunny opened the large rounded wood doors, nearly yanking her arm out of its socket in the process. "Well at least you make the burglars work for their reward," Bunny commented to the inanimate object. Realizing that she was about to engage in a very one-sided discussion with the oaken object, she proceeded inside the garage sparing herself any further embarrassment.

Inside the Middle Earth inspired structure sat two vehicles. The first was her Aunt Malory's '56 Buick pickup truck. The teal paint was finally beginning to chip but otherwise the old girl worked fine. Bunny had been utilizing the car all week to transport herself to the many errands she had to go to while tying up all of Malory's loose ends. It had been a laugh going to her aunt's well-to-do lawyer's office. The white collar office workers getting their hourly nicotine fixes jaws had hit the floor when a very put-together Bunny hopped out of the old truck. Their faces had been worth dealing with Malory's slimy lawyer for a few days. Bunny had never liked lawyers or doctors for that matter. In her experience, a meeting with either of the two was never a good thing and should be avoided like the plague if possible. But today her Aunt's truck would get a well-deserved break.

Sitting next to the large teal hunk of metal was a vehicle that had not felt the warmth of the California sun in approximately fifteen years. Bunny fingered the dust covered canvas tarp and smiled. In one fowl swoop she removed the protective covering. Underneath it sat a candy apple red 1940's Chevy convertible. It was her father's pride and joy. She could still remember her father's teary goodbye to the car the night before him and Bunny move out east fifteen some-odd years ago.

Her father had taken Matilda, the name a three-year-old Bunny had given the red convertible after reading the Roald Dahl book by the same title, for 'one last spin.' The 'spin' was more like a tour of the entire county. Boss was on the road for six hours leaving his eleven-year-old daughter alone on their last night in California together. Bunny never held it against him though. She knew he was saying goodbye to a loved one, although she never understood Boss' decision to uproot their entire life to New York. But then again, men do strange things when presented with 'good' pussy. To say Bunny was a little bitter when it came to her stepmother, Pamela would be a gross understatement. But before going down that road and ruining this wondrous reuniting, Bunny squashed all thoughts of the heinous bitch.

Tilda's keys were hanging on a spoke by the garage's entrance waiting to be plucked off the wall. Bunny caressed the red convertible, almost as if it were her father's cheek, and retrieved its keys. After plopping herself into the driver's seat and adjusting her mirrors, she finally stuck the keys in the ignition and heard Tilda come to life. "Alright ol'girl, time to stretch those legs," Bunny cooed while patting the dashboard. Making two brief pauses to shut the garage and property gates respectively, Bunny and Tilda were off to start their adventure.

Driving in the California sun with Matilda's top down was completely surreal. She felt like she was in a scene from some lost David Lynch movie. The town of Charming if anything was aptly named. Surrounded by picturesque homes and shops, the town looked like it had been transported in time from the 1950s. In Bunny's experience, something that looked so completely perfect on the outside was seldom as lovely once you really got to know it. Charming kind of gave her the creeps, now that she thought about it. She was half convinced that the people's faces she saw as she drove by were starting to distort like those eerie fucks in Soundgarden's "Black Hole Sun" music video. Sleep deprivation was definitely starting to rear its ugly head. Paranoia once again was making a nice little home for itself in Bunny's brain.

As she drove down the streets that lead closer to the heart of town more and more residents seemed to pause and glance her way. Bunny had spent a third of her life living in Charming, but no matter how much time she spent there, people always looked at her like she was an outsider. Not that it was necessarily untrue in most cases. Bunny was somewhat of an enigma. She was a tomboy and a beauty queen all at once. She was charismatic and a force to be reckoned with when it came to her career and yet shy and vulnerable when it came to forming any real relationships outside of work. Bunny had lived on the outside of things for most of her life and had thrived there. New York City was a mecca for people like her so it made sense. However, just because she was used to never fitting in, it did not mean that the judgmental stares did not throw her off her game once and a while. She already doubted herself when it came to Charming. The accusatory stares from its residents were not helping to alleviate those reservations. But maybe Bunny was being a little too full of herself and the people of Charming were just gawking at the vintage beauty she was sitting in. More likely than not, the stares were a result of some combination of the two.

Bunny let out a weary sigh when she reached the stop sign on Luellen Drive, opened the glove compartment and blindly reached around for Boss' secret stash. Her father always kept an emergency pack of Reds along with the car's registration. With a couple of seconds of struggle, Bunny found success. She brought the cigarette to her lips, lit the end and took a long drag, coughing up a lung as she exhaled a cloud of smoke. The Marlboro product was dry and stale. Fifteen years of sitting in a glove compartment was bound to do that to you though. Taking another, smaller, drag and transferring the cancer stick to rest between the middle and index finger of her left hand she turn on Tilda's radio and pressed play.

Bunny smiled from ear to ear. The tape in the car was the one an eleven-year-old Bunny made for her father. She had recorded on her old Tascam in the summer of '93. A week before they had moved a young Bunny sat with twenty of her favorite records scattered around her while she thought of the best songs to capture the place and the people she and her father were leaving behind. This little experiment had turned into somewhat of a ritual for Bunny and became an integral part of her and Trip's company. Although the compilations had moved from cumbersome audio cassettes to accessible downloadable mp3 playlists, a decision Bunny was not entirely happy with. She still remembered her father's face when she gave the mixed tape to him all those years ago. Boss was beaming with pride—glad his love and legacy of music was being passed down to his daughter.

Fingering the nobs, she turned the volume up on the Pixies track. _Doolittle_ was still one of Bunny's all-time favorite records. The album had this honest grit to it that seemed to be missing in most of today's top charters. The caucus sounds of "Monkey Gone to Heaven" were permeating through Matilda's speakers as Bunny made the right onto Main Street. According to her handy-dandy iphone and Google maps she was about five minutes away from her destination.

* * *

It had been a strange and eventful few days to say the least, Happy thought. It was ten past nine Monday morning and Hap's first weekend in Charming had been a doozy. Friday night had started off promising. SAMCRO really did throw the best Friday night party this side of the Mississippi, which was only amped up for Bobby's release. The entire TM lot and clubhouse was packed with patched members, hangarounds, and croweaters getting drunk off their ass in celebration for a beloved brother's release from federal prison. Friday night's bash had everything: fire pits, stripper poles, boxing matches and enough liquor to drown a small whale—basically everything a growing boy needs. But as the festivities progressed the evening had taken a few wrong turns from Partyville.

The appearance of those white-power assholes was an interesting throw in the loop. If Hap's instincts were correct, which they almost always were, he and the Mother Charter would need to keep a close eye on those fucks. About three hours later the night took another wrong turn off the track. Unser, Charming's Chief of Police, told Clay that his Ol Lady had gotten into a nasty accident involving a median and totaling Gem's Caddy. The Queen Bee had been banged up pretty good, but something seemed off Happy. He and everybody who was at least remotely connected to the Sons knew that Gemma Teller-Morrow was one tough bitch. You couldn't be the Ol Lady of two SAMCRO Presidents and mother to its current VP, if you weren't. Gemma had seen more than her fair share of fucked up shit that would send most broads and even a majority of men into years of therapy. But not Gem. She was always the cool customer and model Ol Lady. So why was she shaken up over a car accident? There was something missing to this story that was certain. But since Gemma was neither his mother nor Ol Lady, Hap had no right to say anything. That and it just wasn't Hap's style to interfere with other people's personal shit. All that personal shit and emotions equaled one thing: a fucking mess.

And if there was one thing that he hated in this world it was messy situations. It was not like he couldn't handle a complicated situation. Most of Hap's roll in the club was cleaning up those messy situations charters found themselves in. He was the enforcer: The Tacoma Killer. The shit he'd dealt with over the years was surely guaranteeing him a first class ticket to Hell. Cleaning up the mess was never the issue. It was being in the middle of unnecessary drama that made the killer cringe. Hap craved order and control like most people crave air. Even his dorm room was pristine. If his first weekend in Cali had taught him anything, it was that the Mother Charter had its fair share of action and drama.

Hap was sitting alone on the picnic bench in the lot at TM recalling the weekend's events, readying himself for Church later in the morning. The lot was relatively quiet for a fall morning. Sack was out and about, running all over the lot like a chicken with his head cut off. Happy shook his at the frantic prospect while thinking to himself he was never that green. Juice and Tig were working on putting in new brake pedals in a silver Honda. The club door swung open and out walked Jax with two cups of coffee.

"Here you go, bro," Jax offered while handing Hap a large cup of black coffee, "I'm so glad Bobby's back. Coffee's tasted like ass for the last month. Prospect can't brew a pot for shit," the VP joked while giving the nomad a toothy grin.

Hap took the mug from the SAMCRO Veep, lifting it slightly towards Jax in thanks before taking a slug of the hot caffeinated liquid. Hap sat the mug down on the picnic table beside him and let out a small chuckle.

"Nice choice," Hap rasped out as he nodded his head towards the ceramic cup. The stoneware in question had a large yellow smiley face on one side and on the other the inscription: 'have a nice fucking day! '

"I thought so, Killer," Jax smirked back.

Jax and Happy fell into a comfortable silence as they sat enjoying their morning coffee and watching the members and mechanics working around the garage. Hap had always liked Jax. Where the killer had always respected the Mother Charter's President's strength, brutality and authority, the young VP commanded a different kind of respect. The Sons' motto was 'Brains before bullets' and Jax was definitely the brains of SAMCRO. Hap was obviously no stranger to slinging bullets into enemies, but he knew blind action often created unnecessary complications. Jax was smart: always focusing on big picture shit. That type of restraint calls for a different type of strength. That silent strength does not come easily to the male sex, especially men such as them. About ten minutes into their 'coffee date' Hap and Jax were suddenly jolted to the edge of their seats.

Pulling into the lot had to be one of the most beautiful cars anyone at Teller-Morrow had ever seen in person. No Son was much for a cage, but this sure was something else. Parked right across from the line of Harleys that sat next to the picnic bent Hap and Jax were perched on was a 1940 Chevrolet special deluxe convertible coupe in candy apple red.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Jax had nearly spit out his coffee at the sight of the vintage beauty sitting across the lot from them. From what Hap could tell from the back of the driver's head, she was a petite young blonde. The woman was probably one of those stuck-up bitches with daddy's money to blow. Although Hap had to hand it to the gash, she put papa's cash to good use. The bitch had taste. Hap's mom used to always say, 'Money can't buy taste,' when referring to the mannerless individuals she used to work for. His mother had worked as a maid for some wealthy business man and his family for the better part of thirty years. Working as a glorified slave for those fucks gave Ms. Lowman a relatively flexible schedule, which was necessary to raise the very rambunctious young Happy on her own. The family's mc-mansion was tasteless and tacky at best and seemed to match its owners to a T. Happy always felt bile rise into his throat when he thought about those monsters that fired his mother after thirty years of loyal service for no reason at all. The biker shook his head as if the physical action would rid him of his angry thoughts and focused his attention back on the driver.

The blonde turned off the engine, grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and stepped out of the vehicle. Now if the car had the power to grab the half the lot's attention, its driver had the pull to put all work to a pause. Standing about fifteen feet away from him was the most beautiful looking woman Hap had ever laid eyes on. He had been inside his fair share of good looking women over the years that was for sure. His position in the club pretty much gave him access to prime pussy from coast to coast, but this chick was something else entirely.

She stood leaning against the trunk of her car smoking a cigarette and balancing a cell phone between her ear and shoulder. Her body language indicated the conversation was not very engaging. The blonde looked to be in her mid-twenties and far too pale to have been in California for too long. Her platinum hair fell in soft waves down to her hips. As Hap's eyes roamed over this new specimen each feature was more incising than the next. The woman's body looked like it had been plucked from one of Juice's Heavy Metal comic books: ample chest, tiny waist, curvaceous hips, and slender legs. Those slender legs were being hugged by a pair of pitch black skin tight jeans that connected to five inch stiletto boots with bright red bottoms. The blonde's face was being obscured by a rather large pair of sunglasses. Hap never understood why women felt the need to wear such large sunglasses. Bug-eyes, he thought. Happy's focus finally landed on the woman's lips. Fuck-me lips: plump, full, and dark pink. Hap was half hard just thinking about those lips around his dick. At that moment the little minx's enticing mouth opened to utter a goodbye to whoever was on the other end of the phone call. Hap was jolted out of his little daze when he realized Jax had moved from his side to directly in front of the blonde.

"Mornin' Darlin', anything I could help you with?" Jax offered, adding one his of signature smiles that makes women want to drop their panties on the spot.

The blonde tossed her cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with the toe of her bitch heels. She gave Jax the once over and let a small smirk grace her face as her gaze zeroed in on Vice President patch on Jax's cut. And that's when he heard it. The bitch's voice was like honey: dark, rich and sweet.

"Yeah, maybe you can. I'm looking for someone. A guy."

"Just any guy? Gonna need to be a little more specific around here, Doll." Jax chided.

"Hmmm. I see...well, I'm looking for a _real man_, so I expect he sticks out in these parts. Bobby Elvis. Know where I might find him?" The blonde sassed back with a confident heir.

"You're here to see Bobby?" Jax asked in disbelief. Something that Happy was in agreement with.

"Yeah. Is he here?" she said tapping her foot, obviously getting a little annoyed with Jax's questioning.

"Maybe. Who's asking?" Jax replied now all business.

"An old friend," the blonde replied.

"Huh, this old friend have a name or should I make one up for you?" Hap could tell the VP was reaching his limit with the girl's responses. It was like pulling teeth to get a straight answer from the sexy bitch. The irony of this was not lost on Hap though. It wasn't like he was much of a talker either.

"Monty," the woman finally relinquished.

"Monty? Strange name for a pretty little thing like yourself." Jax replied cheekily.

Monty's lips formed a thin line and Hap knew that behind those ridiculous glasses the girls eyes had narrowed in distaste with the SAMCRO Prince.

"He'll know who I am," Monty assured.

"Alright, Monty. Gimme a sec," and with that Jax turned behind him and walked towards the clubhouse shaking his head the whole time.

Monty. What the fuck kind of name was that for a chick, Hap thought as Jax went inside to retrieve Bobby. He observed the girl again from his perch across the lot. Her arms were crossed over her worn Iron Maiden t-shirt that looked like it had been cut up and sewn back together. She took a long drag of the cigarette she had just lit and was shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her actions were a far cry from the snarky confidence she had shown the VP a moment ago. The girl was obviously more anxious about seeing the SAMCRO secretary than she was willing to let on. And who was this gash to Bobby anyways? She couldn't be his Ol lady, could she? Maybe she was his daughter. But before Hap could ponder this 'Monty' and her relation to Bobby the door of the clubhouse swung open. Hap watched as she lifted her head with the most beautiful smile grace her face.

The cigarette fell from Bunny's hand when she saw Bobby emerge from what she assumed was the Sons of Anarchy clubhouse. In seven years he hadn't changed one bit. She felt a smile spread across her face and before she even realized what she was doing, she felt her feet start to move from under her. Her pace went from a slow jog to a sprint across the lot where she promptly jumped and wrapped her arms around the burly biker. The entire lot had watched this display in complete and utter shock. 'Who the fuck was this chick,' was the general question every Son and mechanic's mind.

"Bobby Elvis! It's been too long." Monty said, still holding on to the biker firmly.

Bobby chuckled and gave the girl one more tight squeeze. "You too kid. You too." Taking Monty by the shoulders, the biker held the tiny blonde at arm's length. "Lemme get a look at you, little girl."

At that the young woman removed her sunglasses and revealed the most incredible looking eyes. They were a haunting sort of pale blue, like the skies of early spring. Well, at least one of them was. The other was a light but warm woody brown. Her mismatched doe eyes were framed by two rows of thick dark lashes. They were beautiful and yet completely disturbing. When she was little, Bunny was always slightly embarrassed about her heterochromia. It wasn't until later in life that she realized some of her idols like David Bowie and Christopher Walken were also freaks.

Bunny's best friend and 'brother-from-another-mother,' Trip, had told her that she should have been named after a wolf instead of a measly rabbit the first time they met. And after years of torture of rabbit related jokes at her expense, an eleven- year- old Bunny was very appreciative of this stance. And from then on they had been best friends.

Bobby drank in the girl's appearance. His gaze zeroed in on the dark circles that looked to have taken up permanent residence under her large doe eyes. With a fleeting yet pointed look as if to say 'we are gonna have a chat about those bags later missy,' Bobby let out a soft chuckle and wrapped a heavy arm around the frail woman's shoulders. "Even more beautiful than I remember, little lady. Skinny as shit though. Still sticking to a strictly-carrot diet, Thumper?" The secretary goaded.

The pale blonde blushed at the compliment while shrugging off the biker's arm. Monty shook her head and playfully rolled her eyes at Bobby's teasing. Over the years she had heard every rabbit-related gag in the book. And while it had bugged her to no end as a kid, Bunny had grown to almost tolerate the constant barrage of bad jokes about her too short ears and unlucky feet. Really, the young woman just wished some remark would be remotely original.

"Actually I've become quite cannibalistic as of late," she teased right back.

At this comment the small group of bikers that had congregated around the girl in hopes of catching something other than croweater all donned confused and questioning stares. Noticing his brothers' perplexed expressions, Bobby cleared his throat and turned to address his fellow SOA members.

"Boys," Bobby gruffed as he placed a comforting hand on the small of the woman's back, "This beautiful young lady here is an old friend, Bunny Owens."

At this point Bunny, who had been staring at a very interesting piece of loose gravel on the ground, lifted her eyes to greet the men Bobby Elvis had called his brothers for so many years. Standing in front of her, were six men in leather cuts. Her eyes scanned the congregation in front of her, noticing the subtle differences between the men. Nodding her head at the blonde VP who helped her before, she raised her hand to greet him first.

"Hey, nice to formally meet you. Bobby Elvis here has told me a lot about you," She told Jax. "Well, all of you I guess," her honey voice addressed the rest of the men standing behind the VP.

"Jax. And Bobby's never mentioned a word about you… Bunny, is it? Not Monty?" Jax responded in a slightly accusatory tone. After the weekend the club had just faced, the VP was in no mood to be toyed around with by some outsider this morning.

"Yeah, uh well about that…" Bunny stumbled.

"Ah, well you see there, I've known Bunny since she was a tiny little baby. Her father and I came up with the nickname when Bunny was around seven?" Bobby paused to look at Bunny to make sure he was getting his dates right.

"Bobby, no tales from the Dark Farm, okay?" she pleaded upon deaf ears.

"You see, Bunny here has never really loved her name, especially the host of the 'wabbit season' puns that so easily go with it. She would throw these humongous fits and get so angry. Madder than Gem when she cracked that Cherry in the nose with a skateboard." Bobby gave another couple of pointed looks to Tig and Happy before once again continuing. "Boss and I used to joke that Bunny here was the real life version of the _Holy Grail_'s Killer Rabbit. Long story short, we started calling her 'Monty' because it was easier than calling her 'The Killer Rabbit' and she was more of a tomboy then anyway. The whole family has called her 'Monty' ever since."

Bunny tried to work up the courage to tell Bobby Elvis that he now made up the entirety of her _whole family_.

"Well now that they've had that lovely history lesson, maybe I could actually learn their names," Bunny quipped, distracting herself and buying more time.

"Oh, yeah, sorry about that, Monty Girl," Bobby apologized. Nodding towards the biker on the far most left, "That there is Chibs."

"Lovely to meet'cha, Lass," the Scotsman offered, kissing Bunny's knuckles.

"My my, what a gentleman," Bunny giggled. Playing along, she fanned herself with her hand and swooned a little. She flirted back while batting her long lashes jokingly at Chibs, "The pleasure is all mine, Kind Sir."

"Alright, alright enough," Bobby interrupted. Going down the line of bikers, Bobby called out the rest of his brothers' names. "That retard there is Juice. The registered sex offender next to him's named Tigger. That's Half-Sack, but he's a prospect so he don't matter much, and that tattooed silent fucker is Happy," Bobby finished.

Bunny's eyes locked onto the man called Happy. He was tall and lean. His caramel skin was completely covered in colorful ink. His eyes were a deep chocolate brown. They were so dark they were almost black and they burned like coals as they bore into her. Now, Bunny had met with a fair share of intimidating people through her family and work over the years, but this man was a whole other animal. The silent biker oozed danger just through his stoic stance. And if she was honest with herself, Bunny had to admit this Happy dude was totally turning her on.

Realizing that she was off in 'LaLa Land,' Bunny shook her head and let out a cough before turning to Bobby once again. "And you make fun of my name? Tigger and Juice. What's next, Naptime and Mr. Rogers?" She exclaimed while pointing at the SAA. "And Half-Sack—I know I probably shouldn't be, but I'm morbidly curious as to why you're called that. And Happy, really? You all sound like a fucked up show on adult-swim. At least I have a reason for my ridiculous name since I'm a WASP," Bunny jested. Her New York sarcasm was making its entrance a little early this morning that was for sure.

Happy let out a low growl at her comment. Much like Bunny he did not appreciate strangers making fun of his name, not that many had the balls to do it to his face.

"Oh shit! Would you look at that…The bitch has some balls on her." Tig said in attempt to diffuse the tension between the overly candid, mildly offensive girl and the semicircle of bearded, leather clad bikers that towered over her.

"Solid Brass, actually," Bunny responded with a straight face. "A matching pair," she added pointedly and watched for the boy called Half-Sack's reaction.

At this everyone erupted into laughter and instantly the tension between the girl and her audience vanished.

Catching his breath, Bobby asked his old friend the question that was on everybody's mind. "So, what brings the lovely and talented Ms. Owens to good ol' Charming? Got some business out west—scouting the local talent pool like your old man back in the day? I assume Malory knows you're here since you've got Tilda with you."

"Um, well not quite," Bunny stated and shifted her weight from foot to foot.

Hap noticed the unconscious tick. She was nervous again. Whatever reason she had for being here, it was definitely not all sunshine and rainbows, judging from how uncomfortable the blonde now looked. Before Bunny could continue, her attention was drawn to the young mohawked biker.

"Hold on a sec," Juice interrupted, "you're Bunny Abrams Owens!"

"We've already established that, Shit Head," Tig said while giving the younger Hispanic biker a swift slap to the back of the skull. "Sorry about the retard, Doll Face."

"No, man. She's _Bunny Owens_," he said again, with gravitas, as if that clarified everything. Receiving only blank responses from his brothers', Juice continued on enthusiastically, "Lead singer, lead guitarist of BAO HOUSE. Model. Artist. Co-Founded The Factory New." Still nothing. Not a single spark of recognition among them. Only Bobby, smiling cheerfully down at the girl whose cheeks were growing pinker by the second. Blind to her discomfort, Juice continued on with his list of reasons precisely why they should know who Bunny Owens is. "Daughter of Boss Owens, the most epic producer of all time. Shit, she's like the baddest chick. I saw you at BAM in '03 with Johnny Cash. It was sick as fuck."

"Stalker," Half-Sack mock-coughed into his hand.

"I've never met a Fan-Boy in a cut before," Bunny added, never one to pass up an opportunity to mock a new acquaintance. "and I've never written a resume before, but that just about does it. Where are you from?" Bunny questioned recognizing the faint raising of vowels as the young biker spoke.

"Yeah, sometimes my accent comes out pretty heavy. I'm from Queens originally. Ridgewood, you know it?" Juice asked.

"Ridgewood. You can take the trash outta Queens, but you can't take the Queens out of trash." Tig jested.

"Hey, I hear ya. I start to sound like Mona Lisa Vito after a couple drinks," Bunny commiserated. "Speaking of which, '_how's your Chinese Food?_'" She asked with a thick Brooklyn accent.

Bobby, Juice, and Tig all let out a short bark of laughter and Bunny's last comment. Apparently they were the only ones to get the reference to the early '90s Joe Pesce classic.

"I like Ridgewood. It's quiet by New York standards. And it's practically Brooklyn. I used to spend a lot of time at bad punk shows in Bushwick."

"Really?" Juice asked unconvinced.

"Yeah... I even took the subway to and from!" Bunny exclaimed in a sarcastic fashion as she brought a hand to her chest. "You'd be surprised how many little rich white girls live in the 'Shwick now. Totally gentrified. All the art kids and hipsters are spreading out. I heard they're trying to rename Bushwick 'East Williamsburg' instead. Which is fucking bullshit if you ask me. But hey, what are you gonna do?"

"Shit, really? Is that why you left?" Juice asked, entirely wrapped up in the conversation and his home town nostalgia while the rest of his brothers had no clue what the two of them were harping on about.

"If you could quit being the President of her fucking fanclub for two seconds, Juicey, maybe she'd actually be able to enlighten us as to why she's here." Bobby told SAMCRO's youngest member. He obviously was slightly annoyed that Juice had interrupted him before.

Juice looked down at the ground sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. With Bunny as a witness, the quips and mockery that were so commonly aimed at Juice now made him uncomfortable.

Bunny looked over to Juice and gave him a small sympathetic smile before attempting to answer the two bikers. "To answer both of you, I needed to get away from the city for a bit. And I'd wager Malory hasn't had Tilda looked at since 1993, considering the amount of dust I found on her tarp." Then Bunny turned to face Bobby only. With a sad and distant look in her eyes she continued. "I guess Rosen kept his promise," she said in a low voice almost as if she was speaking to herself. "But mostly I came because I didn't want you to find out the way that I did. Especially, right out of jail… Yeah, I heard about your troubles down at the docks. Never let Big Brother put ya out of _commission_. Is there somewhere we can sit and talk while one of your boys tunes up Matilda?"

Getting slightly worried, Bobby nodded his head and grabbed the young woman's hand. Before leading Bunny over to the picnic table Happy and Jax were occupying earlier, the secretary told the prospect to grab Dog and get started looking at the vintage convertible. "Treat that car like you would an infant. You fuck anything up on that car 'n you'll never get your top rocker. Got that prospect?"

Half-Sack looked like he was going to shit his pants for a split second. Bunny almost felt bad for the kid but really, Tilda was more precious to her than anything else in the world. So if he fucked up her one remaining connection to her father, she wouldn't hesitate to ensure he became 'No-sack.'

* * *

Bunny followed Bobby to a set of picnic benches that were to the right of the clubhouse entrance and across the lot from where Tilda was now being moved from where she parked her to the garage. She was dragging her feet, trying to prolong the inevitable emotion filled conversation with the biker she thought of as an uncle. Bunny was never really one to talk about her feelings, even with those she was closest to. Something about showing any sort of vulnerability made her cringe and run in the opposite direction. But this was a conversation that needed to be had and Bunny was the best person to deliver it.

Bobby and Malory had a very interesting relationship that spanned a good thirty-some-odd years. There was really no clear way to describe the two. Her aunt was Bobby's landlord, once-upon-a-time lover, and drug dealer. And the biker had been Malory's protégée, confidant, and caretaker. They had been so many different things to each other over the years—each role developing naturally as time passed. How do you tell someone that a person who has been a staple in his life for over three decades was terminally ill for months and never bothered to tell anyone about it? They definitely don't sell _How to Tell an 'Uncle' that His 'Significant Other/Landlady/Stoner-buddy' Up and Died While He Was in Jail for Dummies_ books at Barnes & Noble. Believe me, if they did, Bunny would have bought that fucker without blinking.

Bunny tossed her head back and let out a frustrated groan as she plopped down clumsily next to Bobby. As soon as her ass hit the bench Bunny's head fell into her hands so she could shield herself from the biker's questioning and concerned eyes. Bunny really did love her aunt. Malory was one of those magical people whose free spirited outlook on life although never aligning with societal norms, seemed an effortless and natural fit to the woman in question. And normally Bunny revered her aunt's bohemian non-conformist ways, and even tried to emulate her aunt to a certain capacity. But right now Bunny was cursing the old hippie. Jesus Fucking Christ! Why couldn't Malory just give everyone a little heads up? Like:_'Hey just soes' ya know, I have stage 4 breast cancer, and instead of going through a battery of useless treatments and losing my tits, I'm just gonna fuck off in Tibet for a month or two or until I just don't wake up.'_ Just a little notice...it wasn't so much to ask! But of course Malory just decided it would be better to do the last part of that. And to her aunt's credit, Malory had no idea Bobby would be stuck in federal prison for a month and a half.

"So what's up, kiddo? You're starting to scare the shit out of me here. Something goin on that you're not telling me? You in some kinda trouble?" Bobby rambled off worriedly.

Bunny sighed and raised her head up from its cradle in her pale hands where it had been hiding for the past five minutes. She turned her head and looked directly into Bobby's eyes with so much emotion that she was sure that if she waited any longer she was going to combust.

"Bobby, Malory's dead," Bunny blurted out like she was expelling poison from a wound. She let out a large breath that she didn't even know she had been holding and felt the tension that had been building up for the better part of a week escape from her body.

The biker just stared at the girl next to him for a moment, his mouth slightly aghast. Certainly he had heard his 'niece' wrongly. Sure Malory was a good fifteen years older than him but the last time he saw her she was still doing backflips on the trampoline behind the main house. Christ, she just had her sixty-seventh birthday back in May! She was too young to die.

"Excuse me, but _What?_" Bobby exclaimed. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am. You think I would make a joke about that kind of thing? I mean she was the only family I had left!"

"Well, Nnno, but… How?"

"Apparently the old bat had breast cancer, stage 4. Found out about it a few months back and just decided to forget about it and not bother to tell the two of us. I guess that trip to Tibet she said was a birthday present to herself was more like a last hoorah. I didn't know she was sick until Rosen called me two weeks ago. I was planning on coming out to see her soon, this week actually. Wasn't lyin' when I said I need to get away from the city for a while—but that's a story for later." The relayed message was a string of morose quips delivered in half-mumbles. "When I met with Rosen last week to take care of Aunty M's Will, he told me you were still locked up but that you were getting out within the week. I figured the news would be better coming from me than that slimy fuck, but now I'm not too sure. I'm not good at this type of shit, although you'd think I'd be used to it by now," Bunny laughed morbidly.

At that comment, Bobby forgot all of his own grief. This poor girl had been through a lot of rough shit in her short twenty-six years on Earth—some things that he would never wish on his worst enemies. And yet here she was: beautiful, smart, successful. It was so easy to forget how many hardships this girl had faced. Bunny never spoke about it. But then she would say the smallest thing like being used to dealing with death and the misery that goes with it. And only upon knowing the punch line, could he connect the pieces, the little clues like breadcrumbs she had unknowingly left for him to find: the dark purple bruises under her wide eyes, her uncomfortable shuffle, her gaunt appearance, her defensive brazenness. He had seen her like this before—seven years ago. She was in mourning.

* * *

Hap watched as Bobby escorted Bunny or Monty, whatever her name was, to the benches where he was just sitting not ten minutes ago. Something was going on that she wasn't willing to let the rest of the club be privy to. Little did she know, they would all know in about it two hours when Clay called church. Hap walked over to the prospect and clapped a hand on the kid's shoulder. "How ya doin', kid? You ever worked on something' this vintage before?"

"Uh, ummmm…" Now Half Sack had heard many a tale about the Tacoma Killer in his time prospecting for SAMCRO. And if half of the accounts he was told were true, Happy was one scary son of a bitch!

Hap just stared at the prospect and waited for a response.

"Uh, well not this old or nice, but I've worked on a few '60s muscles, and Dog said he's worked on this exact car around fifteen years ago: probably the last one to take a look at it." Sack replied with a little gusto—a small attempt to not sound so intimidated by the Nomad.

"Not worried about Dog. I asked about your experience, Shit Head," Hap rasped out. He leaned in so he was eye to eye with the young prospect, "Don't worry though, I'll supervise," Hap said in the most menacing voice he could muster—which was downright terrifying.

It took all the Killer had not burst out laughing at the sight of the prospects face. Fuckin around with prospects was one of Hap's favorite pastimes. And the look on the kid's face: like his heart leapt right out of his chest. Yup, he still had it, so why wasn't that blonde bitch now curled up in the SAMCRO Secretary's arms not terrified like rest? She was an outsider after all. She should have cringed away from him and yet the bitch had the nerve to call him and his brothers out. Who the hell was this gash, Hap asked himself as he watched Bobby wipe a tear that was threatening to fall from her face?

"Beautiful isn't she. Certainly doesn't look like any of the tail that hangs around here," Half Sack offered, noticing the Nomad's attention was now solely focused on Bunny.

"Don't know what you're ramblin' about kid, but unless you want to be on bitch duty for the rest of your life I suggest you get to work and stop ogling the customers."

"But, I…" Sack began and then thought the better of it and went back to work. If the Nomad wanted to deny that look in his eyes, then the prospect sure wasn't going to call him out on it. He valued his life and liked having all of his body parts in the correct places too much for that.

Hap gave the girl one more quick glance before redirecting his attention to supervising the prospect. The kid had some nerve—almost calling him out on gawking at the blonde. She really was gorgeous but that's not why his attention was so focused on her. No, there was something about her, something he didn't quite trust. Or at least that was the reason Hap was trying to convince himself for this newfound infatuation. No bitch, aside from his mother, had ever captured his attention for anything longer than a quick fuck. So the only reason he was putting so much thought into Bunny, was because he loved his club and even if her and Bobby were close, she was still technically an outsider.


End file.
